Those Awkward Teenage Moments
by Dizzy3
Summary: Two adolescents on the verge of adulthood take a closer look at themselves, and each other. A story of discovering yourself, and growing up.


Those Awkward Teenage Moments

Chapter One: The Puzzle Piece

Written by: Dizzy

Theirroom was, in short, a mess. Outdated copies of Teen Witch Weekly carpeted the floor, accompanied by discarded outfit choices, hair styling materials and hordes and hordes of make-up. Hair ties, bobby pins, mascara wands, old lipstick, bottles of lotion, all contributed to the disarray, and not one bit of it was hers.

Hermione Granger was disgusted. Three beds lined the boy cutout filled wall of their dormitory room, but only one was saved from the muck. That bed was of course her own. Pristine, well-made, and mess free, it looked highly out of place among the effluvia of so many girls living in one crowded space.

She turned an accusing glare on her roommates, who were sprawled across Lavender Brown's bed, pens in hand.

"He asks you out to your favorite restaurant, but unfortunately his timing is way off. You accept without realizing that you have a smashing party to go to that very same night. Do you: A: Cancel the date and instead see if he wants to go have a witching good time with you at the bash. B. Feign an illness and go without him, or C. Enjoy a quiet, romantic dinner with him because parties aren't really your scene?" Lavender finished reading and looked at her friend expectantly. Parvati put her pen to her lips pondering her answer.

"A. At least that way I still get to do something with him," Lavendar quickly added the response to the others.

"I'm going with B. I can always reschedule later."

Hermione rolled her eyes. This was the latest in a series of never ending Thursday night quizzes. The following Friday was "Boy tactic" day, in which both girls put the frivolous guy grabbing knowledge they learned in each brainless issue to good use.

"I have one," she said, closing her book and looking at the two girls with utter seriousness.

"Really?" Parvati leaned closer.

"Yeah. Your roommate has noticed that if something isn't cleaned soon that eventually she's going to be sucked up in all the mess. Do you A: Get to work cleaning and organizing this horrible monstrosity. B: Take silly quizzes that always have the same stupid outcome, or C: Succumb to her wrath and wake up one morning covered in boils?" Hermione returned to her book.

Both girls rolled their eyes, and returned to the magazine.

"Okay, 2 points there, 1 point there, 2 points there, 3 there, and you are-" Lavender consulted the guide: "A Compromising Cutie-You attend to your man without sacrificing your hectic social schedule. Your day planner is your constant companion in organizing your love life around your party life."

"Oooh. Your turn,"

Hermione closed her book in disgust. Compromising Cutie indeed. She doubted that Parvati even owned a day planner, if her continuously late assignments and last minute reports were any indication.

Hermione had finally had her share of pointless quizzes, headache inducing scents, and hours upon hours of outfit planning.

She exited the room with a snort of disgust as Parvati began analyzing Lavendar's results.

"You're a Party Princess, having fun without sacrifice is your ultimate goal. Leave 'em waiting and they'll always come back for more. Armed with a keen fashion sense and-"

The door cut her off mid-sentence and Hermione made her way to the common room. Hopefully she could find some quiz and makeup tip free peace.

It seemed however that peace was not in the cards. It only took her a minute to realize that the common room was no safe-haven.

Dean Thomas was standing on the couch, in his hands he clutched what appeared to be the sports section of the Daily Prophet, if the whizzing Quidditch player on the cover was any indication. He was reading it to a gaggle of boys, Harry and Ron included, at the top of his voice.

"In a surprising turn of events it seems that team captain Martin Arraby's decision to put new Chuddly Cannons keeper, Ryan Happleby, at the forefront of Tuesday's match was the right one. With sixty-two saves, and only one error Ryan defended his post with unwavering determination. Happleby, 19, has had a short, but noteworthy career, leading the Puddlemere United reserve team to victory several times in his two years as their keeper. It seems that Happleby will continue his trend of deathdefying saves, and eccentric goal keeping in his new found post among the Cannons-" Dean continued on, rehashing the game bit by bit while bouncing between the cushions of the overstuffed Gryffindor couch.

Hermione rolled her eyes again. If not makeup then of course, Quidditch. It seemed that she was not to be spared on this day.

Dean finished his reading with a bow and flopped onto the cushion next to Seamus.

"And here I thought it was a mistake bringing Happleby onto the team," he said.

Ron had taken the newspaper, scissors in hand, ready to add this clipping in with all the rest that had been recently taking residence on his wall. It seemed that since he had become the Gryffindor keeper he had made it his mission to keep all cuttings of noteworthy keepers.

"Ridiculous isn't it," Ginny Weasley fell onto the couch next to her friend, giving a look to the boys who were still rehashing the entire game, play by play.

"Quite," Hermione opened her book. She could of course go the library, but she had found that she didn't much like it there lately. Annoying as the constant Quidditch talk and boy goggling was, she much preferred the buzz of company to the silence of the library.

That was only one of the very strange changes this year had brought. The thought that Hermione Granger, book-worm extraordnaire, could be growing tired of the library was simply unheard of.

But here she was, just trying to be apart of the crowd, if not a very solitary part.

Sixth year brought more freedom, and thus with it, more rebellion. Curfew was neglected, dress code was shot to smithereens, and homework was left unattended till the last minute by most.

With their upcoming exams Hermione was surprised at the lack of nervousness among her classmates. They had only a short time left before the N.E.W.T.S of their seventh year.

Hermione seemed the only one not affected by this carefree attitude, the freedom of having completed their O.W.L.S., and the long stretch of time before their next hectic exam trial.

She studied and worried as much as she had every year. She bossed and nagged her friends into studying submission when possible, and steadfastly refused to let them copy any of her meticulous assignments, just as in years past.

She didn't worry about her clothes, or her hair, or her makeup, as it seemed every other girl 5th year and up was doing. She didn't undress and redress in an effort to find the perfect outfit for Hogsmeades outings, and she didn't pour over every issue of Teen Witch Weekly in and effort to find the perfect tips for snagging the perfect guy.

Truth be told, she felt a little left out of it all. It was like being the puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. The one cut a bit off center, that should be in a specific place, but couldn't, so you had to bang it into place instead.

Hermione closed her book with a sigh. She would get no reading done in here, not with this ruckus. It was too close to lunch to head off to the library instead anyway.

Hermione leaned back in her chair, and waited.

Ron Weasley lay on his bed grinning, and starring at the ceiling. Dean was once again reading something at the top of his voice, jumping on his bed as he did so.

This time, however, it was not the recent Quidditch match. It was instead a piece of ordinary parchment, heavily perfumed, with the scrawlings of a teenage girl's flowing, bubbly hand.

It was in fact a note, passed to their dear friend in Herbology, and left carelessly at their table during dinner.

Dean had not hesitated to pocket the letter, and was now reading it at the top of his lungs.

"Dear Seamus," he read to the present boys, Seamus not being among them. "I have never written a letter like this, and hopefully I will never have to again. I could not say this to you in person, though I've tried many times," he made an overdramatic show of being woeful. "I have never felt this way about anyone before, and I really need to get this off my chest."

Harry laughed as Dean now pantomimed a rather well endowed chest.

"I have loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you and hope that perhaps you've noticed me as well." His voice was getting higher pitched with every word as he fully got into character. "I would really like for us to be friends-" he waggled his eyebrows, "-or more and hope that you will meet me outside of Honeydukes at 2 o'clock on Saturday."

Dean sucked in a huge breath. Preparing for the finally.

"Love, Eloise Midgen." With that the boys all burst into laughter. Even Neville, who had gone quite red in the face after the first few minutes of the letter.

"Seamus is going to kill you," said Harry good naturedly. He could only imagine what that Irish temper would do once he found out his best friend had just divulged his entire embarrassing love life in front of everyone in the room.

"It'll be worth it once I follow him to Honeydukes on Saturday," Dean stopped bouncing and carefully folded the letter.

"You mean he's really going?" Ron looked up.

Dean shrugged.

"Brave man that one," Ron said.

"Eloise is really nice," Neville said, and then turned red again when they all, with the exception of maybe Harry, stared at him in surprise.

"But she's not much to look at now is she?" Dean said as he slipped the letter into Seamus's discarded school bag. "Not like say….Parvati Patil."

Neville shrugged, preferring not to say.

"Now there is a girl who has grown up for the better," Dean waggles his eyebrows again.

None of the other boys said anything, they just gave non-committal nods, and shrugs.

If truth be told there wasn't a girl in their class who hadn't grown up that year. Surely it couldn't have happened so suddenly, but the boys were just now beginning to notice.

Skirts had gotten shorter, shirts had filled out, and legs were decidedly longer. The gangly, awkward girls of the year before were suddenly not so awkward.

When this had happened none of the boys were sure, but they were struggling to keep up.

Their usual joking antics, which had once received laughter and admiration, now received looks of superior disgust. Their maturity was called into question at least once a day, by at least one member of the female population.

Ron closed his eyes wondering what had happened. He wasn't sure he could deal with this new species of female classmates. They were the ones that smelled of flowers and honey when they walked by, and twirled their hair across the room. They dropped things on purpose, their shirts gaping open when they bent to pick it up, giving him a short view of white lace bras and smooth skin. Even lying there he could feel the tips of his ears turn red.

Even Harry was affected by this new change. Just the other day he had banged his knee on the house table while watching Cho Chang get up from hers. Long lean legs, and short school skirt had led to a mighty large bruise and a really sharp pain.

It was enough to drive them all insane.

Ron was thankful that the only girl who really made a difference in his life had not succumbed to this perfume wearing, shiny hair tossing cult. Hermione was the same as always, and for that he was thankful. He really couldn't take it if the one girl he spent most of his day with was just like the rest of them. He would never be able to get anything done.

Ron rolled over, and smiled. Hermione would never change, and that was the only thing he could really count on. Unfortunately, it wasn't true.

Hermione stood in front of the bathroom mirror, carefully studying her reflection. She wasn't that bad looking. Her bushy hair had calmed down a bit since her first year, and seemed too flatten a bit more with every passing year. Her face was clear, thanks mostly to her mother's picture perfect skin. Her teeth were a lot better now, her nose wasn't overly large or small. All in all it was a fairly attractive face.

She grabbed a handful of hair and twisted it up. A few tendrils fell down to frame her face. Not bad. She turned it again, this time into a loose, carefree pony tail. She let it fall, disgusted.

Nothing seemed to help.

Instead she twisted it up to a tight chignon, pulling a few curly strands down to soften the effect. Different, but still studious, she decided. It would work. Satisfied she edged her hand into her bag, looking around to see if anyone was watching her.

The bathroom was, thankfully, empty.

She took out a tube of borrowed lipstick from Pavarti from her school bag and looked at it apprehensively.

She had never used makeup before, much to the dismay of her mother. Even at the Yule Ball those years ago she had gone makeup free.

But a little couldn't hurt. Could it? She leaned forward and began a slow tedious application. It wasn't that hard really. And it wasn't that bad.

She surveyed her teeth for any signs of the pale pink and found none.

It was quite nice actually. She gave the mirror a large, confident smile. Not bad at all. She turned it into a little pout. She giggled. Then she did a Mona Lisa smile.

"I'd love to go to Hogsmeade with you," she batted her eyes at the mirror. "How nice of you to-"

She dropped the lipstick with a clatter as the door opened. Her face flushed with embarrassment as the tube swirled in the basin, finally resting at the bottom.

The third year Ravenclaw gave her a tentative friendly smile and disappeared into a stall.

Hurriedly Hermione grabbed the lipstick, stuffing it back into its top and then back into her bag. She surveyed herself in the mirror one last time before departing. Same mousey brown hair, same dull brown eyes, same Hermione. No lipstick in the world could change that.

Hermione sat between Ron and Harry, crushing mulberry root under her pestle. In front of them a cauldron simmered, and Harry stirred it slowly.

"Now add the moth wings one at time," Hermione said as they crushed. Ron did as he was told.

"What's this supposed to do anyway?" Ron asked, wrinkling his nose at the green sludge in the cauldron.

"Sleeping draught," Hermione said. "Supposed to give the drinker wonderful dreams."

"Audrey Lawrence in a bikini," Ron murmured, thinking on the newest in a long string of popular witch singers.

Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust. She handed him the powder. "Now add that and stir quickly."

He dumped the contents into the pot, turning the sludge from green to violet. Harry stirred a little faster.

Ron sat back down.

"What's this then?" He leaned over and picked up a curling tendril of hair with his quill. "Got a hot date?"

Hermione blushed.

"No…just thought I'd do something different," she murmured, embarrassed. The feather tickled her cheek It lingered there for a moment and then Ron pulled his hand away.

"It's uh…nice," he ducked his head, concentrating on the book in front of him. His ears were already starting to turn a bit pink.

"Thanks." She stood up quickly, vial in hand and scooped a bit of the violet potion into it.

"That should be it then," she said and Harry stopped stirring.

They just had to wait for the rest of the class to finish now.

"So Hogsmeade this weekend," Harry said, leaning back in his chair. "Three Broomsticks?"

As if he had to ask. There was really nothing more for the three of them to do. The once exciting visits to the wizarding village were losing their luster. There was simply nothing left for them to do other then drink butterbeer and chat amongst themselves.

Ron however was not thinking of butterbeer or Hogsmeade. He was thinking of hair. Hermione's to be exact.

She had taken to reading her book, reading up on the uses of some such potion or another, getting a headstart on the next lesson. She was twirling a strand of the hair he was thinking about around one finger, idly following the words with her eyes.

It was probably the single most fascinating thing he had ever seen. Around and around the hair went, till her finger pulled down, letting it spring free. Then the whole sequence started over again. She did it again, and again. That little tiny hair went around her slim fingers and then sprung up to brush against her cheek, it was hypnotizing.

"We'll go to Honeydukes first," Harry said, snapping him out of it. Ron shook his head to clear it. "I need to restock."

Ron shook his head again. It was just hair. Hermione's hair in fact.

"Good idea, I'm almost out of Sugar Quills," he said lamely, and focused his attention instead on the cauldron. His ears were burning now.

Why had she changed her hair anyway? It was fine the way it was. Now it was…distracting. All up in its little bun, those tiny strands brushing her face. She tucked one behind her ear. He shook his head again.

He really was bored he decided. Never before had he been so glad to hear Snape's sharp, grouchy voice demanding the vials of completed potion. Signaling the end of class.

Ron shot up and gathered his stuff.

"See you guys later," and then he practically ran out of the room.

"It's just Hermione," he murmured once he was safely in the hall. Away from new hairstyles and the faintest impression of soft pink lipstick on soft lips, he shook his head again. He really was going crazy. Seamus and Dean were really getting to him with their hormonally charged nightly conversations.

He had to repeat it again though as he walked down the hallway, it's just Hermione.

In truth it wasn't the first time that Ron had found himself noticing certain aspects of his best friend. If he had really cared to think on it the first day that he had noticed anything out of the ordinary had been just before the start of term. And it had been totally and utterly his mother's fault. He thought on it now, laying on his bed, arm slung over his eyes.

"Won't be a mo'", his mother had called out, leaving the boys uncomfortable and stranded outside the shop. The lifelike mannequins winked and cooed at the boys, parading around the front window in nothing more then their knickers.

When the girls had returned they were both red in the face, carrying matching pink sacks which they clutched to their chests in a protective way. None of the boys were allowed to see the contents of the pink sacks, but they had a very good idea of what was inside them.

It was then that Ron, had rather embarrassingly checked to see if the articles purchased were needed, for he had never noticed before.

He was none to sly about it either, being a teenage boy with little to no subtlety. He simply waited until Hermione had removed her jacket once they returned to the Burrow.

It was then that he noticed that whatever was in the pink sacks was needed in a very large way. For Hermione had finally managed to grow breasts.

Thinking back on that day in which he had ogled a girl who he had been best friends with for six years made Ron groan with embarrassment and frustration. He rolled over, wondering why he had decided to relive that little tidbit of information.

He had, after all, been ignoring and avoiding it the whole term. He had pointedly refused to look father down then Hermione's neck the entire time since the shopping day. For if he did then it would a whole new set of embarrassment. It would also mean that the slight changes he had been ignoring for so long were in fact, true and very present.

It would also mean that how he felt about those changes would have to be thoroughly examined and he wasn't sure if he liked that idea.

But here he was, lying on his bed, doing just that.

Hermione was just like the rest of them the whole distracting, stomach fluttering bunch of them. She could hold him entranced with just a strand of her hair for Merlin's sake, and think nothing of it.

Ron groaned again. He wasn't quite sure what he should do about it either. The feelings had been creeping up on him for years now. Awkward, unwelcome feelings, that would surely cause problems for the three of them.

Hermione had found her way into his thoughts more and more as the years went on, and some of those thoughts were not exactly "friendly". She wormed her way into his dreams, and into his in class ponderings.

He knew her smell, her mannerisms, her laugh, and all of these things that he had spent years learning were rolled up inside his head mixing with new feelings. Her laugh, which had once just brought him pleasure in knowing that he had caused it, was now something more meaningful. It was a beautiful laugh, full and light, and every time he heard it, directed at him or not his face split into a grin and his stomach fluttered.

Ron smacked his head. "Stop it." He ordered aloud. "She's your friend."

His beautiful, smart, funny, long legged friend, Ron smacked himself again.

"Hopeless," he murmured. "Just hopeless."


End file.
